Detach
by JennMel
Summary: Sometimes, Malcolm would admit, he tended to detach himself from the others. It was something he was trying to work on. But being on the receiving end of a Betazoid's idea of a practical joke was decidedly not the way he had wanted to go about it...
1. Chapter 1

Author Notes: So, this is a story that's been bombing around my head since early September last year, when I sat my beta down to finally watch certain episodes of season 4 she'd missed the first time round. Combine this with an unrelated story I've been writing, I decided to both use this fic as practice, and have fun with Malcolm while I was at it. This was the result, posted in celebration for once again having the freedom of having a word count that is entirely unrelated to my (now submitted) dissertation. Happy times! Plus, I've missed this fandom :) Enjoy!

**Detach**

Chapter 1

"So _that's_ a Vulcan..."

"She's pretty. What are the people with her?"

The elder boy concentrated slightly, "Humans. They're from a planet called Earth, and their ship's in orbit."

"Sirin! Mama said it's rude to pry into the thoughts of offworlders!"

"You're just jealous because your telepathy hasn't manifested yet." He snapped at his younger brother.

"So is it true?"

"What?"

"That they don't feel anything!"

"It's hard to tell, the humans' emotions are really _loud_."

"You haven't been practicing!" The younger boy giggled.

"Dyx! Shut up! They'll hear us! The only reason Mother doesn't know we're here is because she's blocking her telepathy as politeness for the offworlders – don't ruin it!"

Dyx pouted, but obliged. He was too excited to spoil everything. It wasn't often that offworlders came to Betazed, finding its people's telepathy rather unsettling. Vulcans especially, while an ally to Betazed, tended to prefer to steer clear. As the Ambassador, their mother was acting as liaison for these new visitors, who had arrived in their ship late the day before. Sirin and Dyx had both been sternly told to remain in their schoolroom...

...fortunately, they had both long since developed selective hearing.

"Alright, come on. They'll be going into the dining hall in a minute; we need to do this now." Sirin tried to make his voice as professional and grown up as he could. It seemed to work, as Dyx was nodding vigorously.

The pair of brothers slipped back around the corner, only just avoiding a pair of waiting staff heading to the kitchens. Dyx peeked his head through the door, "All clear."

"Good. Here-" Sirin handed him a small sachet of clear granules. "Put these into the Vulcan's goblet. They'll dissolve in the wine when it's poured. Use all of it – it'll probably take more to affect her than a Betazoid. Remember, Vulcan's are vegetarians, so her place setting will be the one without the meat knives."

Dyx wavered, suddenly nervous, "Why can't _you_ do it?" He whined.

"Because I'm older than you – I delegate."

Dyx sighed in defeat, and quickly stole into the hall, shuffling around the long table to try and find the correct place setting. Finally, he found the right one, and scrambled up onto the plush chair to lean over and tip his precious sachet into the cup. Job done, he hopped down, very pleased with himself, and ran back to his brother. Not a moment too soon, either, because at that moment, their mother glided into the hall, followed by the visitors. After a little ceremony, the guests were seated, and their mother called for a toast. With bated breath, the brothers watched and waited, until goblets were raised and drunk. Sirin grinned, "_Brilliant!_ It shouldn't be long before it kicks in."

"Oops." Dyx squeaked, biting his lip nervously.

Sirin froze and hissed, "What do you mean 'oops'?"

"I put it in the wrong goblet. I thought the cups were to the _right_ of the place setting!"

"_What! _You idiot! Don't you pay any attention in your etiquette classes?" He whirled back around to see who had drunk from the wrong cup. It was one of the humans. Not their leader, thankfully, but the other one with dark hair; the one that spoke differently from the others. Sirin swore. Loudly.

Dyx flinched as he saw the party turn their heads curiously, and their mother suddenly pause and scowl. "If you will excuse me for a moment, Captain Archer, I believe my sons are somewhere they are not supposed to be."

Archer grinned, "No problem Ambassador."

Before she could reach the door, however, a small boy burst in, shortly followed by an older boy, who tried to grab the younger's arms, "Mama! I'm really sorry! Sirin said it'd be nice, because Vulcans don't feel stuff, but I got it wrong, and put it in the wrong cup, and now it's really bad, because we put more in because she was a Vulcan, but it wasn't a Vulcan, it was a Human!" The words tumbled out in a rush, leaving the boy panting.

The Ambassador's scowl darkened, "Speak sense child! Sirin, what is going on? I want an explanation, _now!_"

The older boy shuffled, before finally raising his head to meet his mother's eyes. There was silence, in which T'Pol informed the rest of the Enterprise away team that a form of telepathy was taking place. After a moment, Ambassador Brina sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. The boy Sirin looked over to the table, "We're really sorry Captain Archer, sir. It was only meant to be a joke."

"And?" Their mother pressed.

"And Lieutenant Reed. We're really, _really_ sorry."

The away team exchanged glances, Jonathan looking to his Armoury Officer worriedly, before turning back to the Ambassador, "What's going on?"

"Both of you get out of my sight. I'll deal with you later." Ambassador Brina snapped at her sons, who quickly scampered away. She turned towards the humans, from whom she could feel background wariness, "I'm afraid my sons decided to play a practical joke at your expense. They attempted to slip Sub-Commander T'Pol a compound designed to focus our children when they begin to come into their telepathy. They hoped to give you the chance to experience emotions by proxy, even if you chose not to experience your own. Unfortunately, they mixed up the cups; I'm truly sorry Lieutenant Reed."

Archer blinked, before anger welled, "_What?_"

"Please. I understand your anger, but they are only children. I will take full responsibility."

Somehow, Jonathan managed to press down upon his irrational desire to cut all ties with these people, "We'll deal with this later. What is going to happen to my officer?"

"The drug is designed for Betazoids, but our physiology is remarkably similar. It will not do him harm, however..." She regarded the Lieutenant closely, noting how he didn't seem to be particularly following the conversation, despite being its subject. "The dose my sons gave him was much higher than what we would give a sensitive Betazoid, but your Lieutenant is not one of our people, so it should not harm him. In fact, I am sceptical whether it would have affected Sub-Commander T'Pol at all..." She trailed off.

Archer raised an eyebrow, "But?"

"I believe that Lieutenant Reed will begin to experience a form of empathy. Your human brains are not designed to have the capacity for telepathy-"

"Or empathy." Hoshi cut across the woman, interrupted for the first time, "You don't know it'll do anything."

The Ambassador shook her head, "I'm afraid it already is."

The team's heads whipped round to their fourth team member, who was determinedly staring at his clenched fist on the table. "Malcolm?" Archer reached forwards, touching his officer's shoulder, only to have it wrenched from his grasp as Malcolm suddenly shot to his feet and stumbled backwards.

Malcolm focussed on controlling his breathing, shakily looking at Archer, "Sorry sir. I just wasn't expecting...that..."

Ambassador Brina sighed, "The empathy will be the most prominent at physical touch, but while the compound is at its strongest, being in the same room as others will also be rather unsettling for him."

Malcolm closed his eyes for a second, successfully pushing the growing sick feeling in his body to the back of his mind, before opening them again, "Ambassador, I would _really_ appreciate it if you didn't speak as if I wasn't here." He swayed slightly at a strange cloying emotion that was decidedly not his own, and Archer stepped forwards instinctively. Malcolm backed away another step, raising his hand, "No offence, sir, but I'd really appreciate it if you didn't touch me right now."

"Sure, Malcolm." He pulled himself back, "We should get you back to Enterprise."

"It might be better if I help Lieutenant Reed to the shuttlepod." T'Pol stepped forwards, "My repressed emotions should be easier for him to cope with." Gently and with clear purpose, she took his elbow in an attempt to help him steady himself. He was relieved to feel no crashing wave of emotions from the contact, and nodded to her when he felt sure enough to walk by himself.

Archer smiled slightly as the vaguely positive development, "I'll be with you in a moment. Hoshi, go with them, contact Enterprise and tell them what's happened." The three left the room.

Ambassador Brina held her hands up in supplication, "I am truly sorry, Captain."

Archer shook his head, "Just tell me how to fix this. How do we reverse it?"

The woman shook her head, "There is no way we know of; we have never before needed to. A normal dose to a Betazoid child will last no more than three days. It is primarily a teaching aid, designed to give children temporary boosts to help achieve focus."

"And Malcolm?"

"It could take over a week for his system to completely break the compound down, mainly due to the higher dosage. And before you ask, any attempt to accelerate the process would be ill-advised. It works directly on the brain. We are already on unsteady ground from our differing physiologies; any more tampering could be disastrous."

Jon gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep calm, "You're sure it's not permanent?"

"Absolutely."

He nodded, "I hope you're right." He just about managed to stop that from sounding like a threat, "I need to return my officer to the Enterprise."

"I understand, Captain. Should you need to contact us for any help, do not hesitate. And, I would hope, that once Lieutenant Reed recovers, we might continue the discussions we began?"

Jon just about hid a grimace, trying to remind himself that it had only been an innocent prank gone wrong with – typically – Malcolm as the victim. "We'll see. Good day, Ambassador."

* * *

Malcolm closed his eyes as he sat on the biobed, trying to listen hard to the sounds of Phlox performing his scans. It made it easier; helped to quell the current feeling of dizzying vertigo he was experiencing. In a complete opposite reaction to how he felt around T'Pol, the Denobulan doctor's emotions were, to say the least, confusing. It took Malcolm a while to work out that the problem came from Phlox's bizarre contradiction of emotions – concern battling with scientific curiosity. It was starting to make him feel really quite ill; more so than he had during that _horrible_ shuttlepod ride.

Malcolm shifted, titling his head slightly as the sensations began to abate, a curiosity that was not his own finally defeating Phlox's concern, a concern Malcolm still felt for himself.

This was making his head hurt.

Belatedly, he realised that Phlox was talking, and he realised that the slightly duller emotions were coming from people standing further away from him. Yes, those voices belonged to Captain Archer...and Commander Tucker...and Sub-Commander T'Pol. After Phlox had confirmed that whatever those boys had done to him would be both short term, and relatively harmless, Malcolm couldn't hold back. Eyes still closed, he snapped, "Could you all at least _pretend_ not to be enjoying this so much?"

A combined wave of...surprise? It had been amplified by the multiple people feeling the same thing. Trip's wry southern drawl filled sickbay, "Yeah, well I had to endure the ridicule of being pregnant. Now it's your turn. Besides, you have to appreciate the irony, Malcolm."

"Enlighten me, Commander." Malcolm bit back.

"Well, 'sides from T'Pol here, you're the closest person to a Vulcan we've got." Trip grinned, and Malcolm unknowingly mirrored the grin with his own, Trip's infectious emotions successfully overriding his own of concern.

"I'm flattered, sir." Malcolm replied flatly, in a tone that did not match his expression.

"And I'm not entirely sure how to take that comment, Commander." T'Pol's voice nearly made Malcolm jump; he had forgotten she was here. Compared to the other three, she was like a blank void.

"Completely a compliment, T'Pol." Trip smoothly replied.

"Moving back to the issue at hand." Phlox's voice cut across them, "Lieutenant, would you be able to open your eyes for me?"

Malcolm didn't answer, trying to decide if he could do it without making the horrible vertigo return in full force. In the end, he bit down hard on his tongue at the same time as he complied with Phlox's request, the momentary sharp physical sensation taking him away from the mental world he had been drowning in. He took an unsteady breath, before carefully enunciating his words, "I'm fine."

"You'll let Phlox be the judge of that, Malcolm." Archer softly refuted, unknowingly sending a sliver of his worry spiking down Malcolm's spine. He only just repressed a reflex jerk. It was worse than it had been back on the planet, the drug now taking full effect.

"Well, Lieutenant, you should be free to go back to your quarters, but I strictly refuse to clear you for duty until the drug's influence has passed. And I want you to come straight back here if you should begin to experience any particularly adverse effects. The Betazoid doctors I spoke with also advised that you would be best to avoid contact with crowds, so I would recommend steering clear of places like the mess hall."

"I understand. Thank you, Doctor." Malcolm felt Trip's mirth at his eagerness to get out of sickbay, and it caused him to stumble slightly as he hopped down from the biobed. Thankfully, he righted himself before Phlox could try and grab his arm to try and help him balance. He didn't think he would have been able to cope with that.

"You okay, Malcolm?" Archer asked.

"Sorry sir. I was just taken a little off-guard."

"Would you like me to escort you to your quarters, Lieutenant?" T'Pol once again caught him by surprise by her presence.

For a moment, he was going to refuse, but then he knew that if he did, Trip would follow him anyway out of concern. While he enjoyed his friend's company under normal circumstances, these were not normal, and the chief engineer was perhaps one of the least emotionally repressed people Malcolm knew. He could cope with Trip in a restricted environment, but walking down the halls, passing multiple people? The thought alone made Malcolm feel sick. "Thank you, Sub-Commander. I'd appreciate that."

On the way to his quarters, he had never been so grateful for Archer ignoring his security request to increase the personnel in the skeleton night shift crew. Nor had he been so grateful for T'Pol's presence. When they weren't running into curious crewmembers, she made he feel as if he might actually be _normal_. In comparison to being near anyone else, it was like walking next to a black hole; an empty void of calm and logic.

After what seemed to be an eternity, they reached his quarters, and T'Pol bid him goodnight. As soon as his door had slid shut, Malcolm weaved his way precariously over to the couch, before sitting down heavily. He stopped bothering to try and still his shaking hands as he ran them unsteadily through his hair.

A whole week more. Of _this?_

Wonderful.

To Be Continued...

Author Notes: So what did you think? This isn't going to be a very long story, just something I felt like playing with. I'd love to hear any feedback you might have!


	2. Chapter 2

Author Notes: Hi guys! Thank you so much for all your comments - they've prompted me to update :P This will now be a three part story, with this as the middle instalment. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2

The chime at Malcolm door sliced through his growing headache, banishing any semblance of sleep. Not that he had been sleeping well. He had tried, but by the time he had finally been able to quiet his brain going over dozens of scenarios of how this week could go, the morning shift had begun to wake up, and echoes of their emotions as they moved down the corridor had easily cut into his thoughts.

Apparently, the drug was still peaking as its range increased. The Betazoids apparently had a range of over a hundred metres if they tried, but they had developed effective blocking techniques. While Malcolm would not get that range, he equally lacked anything that would block out this constant buzz...

He swing out of bed as the chime sounded again, pulling on civilian clothes as he went; he was officially off duty, and it would be quicker than getting into uniform. Nevertheless, he really hoped it wasn't Captain Archer.

Thankfully, the door hissed open to reveal Trip, bearing what looked to be breakfast. The engineer grinned, "Wow, you look like hell. Did you sleep at all last night?"

The corridor was empty now that shift had started, and Trip was the only one around, so Malcolm knew the mixture of friendly concern and humour was solely from the man in front of him. Surprising himself, he answered truthfully, "Barely. Did you want to come in?" Trip shrugged, and Malcolm knew he was torn. The feeling was rather unsettling, "Well, I'm going to sit down anyway, if you don't mind, sir."

A spike of guilt, "My shift doesn't start for a couple of hours, and there's enough breakfast for us both, but if you'd rather be alone..."

"Really, Commander, it's fine. I just need to get used to it, is all. One on one isn't too bad."

Trip smiled and walked in, the door sliding closed behind him as he set down the tray. To Malcolm's relief the guilt washed away, once again replaced by a good humour that did a lot to settle Malcolm's sense of unbalance. "We're both off duty, Malcolm." He sat down opposite his friend.

Malcolm awarded him with a crooked smile, "Trip."

"So, how's this empathy thing working for you?" Oddly, the relaxed nature of Trip's general personality seemed to influence Malcolm's own feelings. It wasn't like with T'Pol, where he felt normal, but it was still...nice. As long as Trip stayed positive – and chances were good on that front – maybe Malcolm wouldn't be completely cut off for this week.

"Oh, you know, the usual." Malcolm smirked.

"This means I'm not going to be able to hold the pregnancy thing as a trump over you anymore, doesn't it?"

"I'd say so, yes." Malcolm picked up a piece of fruit. He frowned as he felt another spike from his friend, this time of humour and another emotion Malcolm couldn't quite place. It felt like...memories...remembering...maybe reminiscing? "What is it?"

Trip snorted, "Okay that is going to take some getting used to – Malcolm Reed actually instigating a conversation on emotions."

"My sides are splitting with your unbeatable humour." Malcolm returned good-naturedly.

Trip gave him a lopsided grin as he helped himself to some bacon, "I was just thinking, if you'd had this empathy on Risa, we'd have been sorted."

"And I thought we were _never_ going to talk about that. Ever again." Malcolm raised an eyebrow.

Trip conceded, "Well, okay. But you have to admit, empathy would be a real handy skill for someone as obsessed with ship security as you."

"I am not obsessed!" Malcolm laughed with Trip's encroaching humour, but then sobered up with his own emotions. "And while I see your point, I would actually be completely useless. Maybe if I were actually a Betazoid, but I'm not. Have you any idea how _loud_ people are? How much we feel, the sheer range? I mean, we're not just talking happy, sad and angry here. Every single nuance of emotions and humans experience the lot of them – _constantly. _Some of them I'm still having trouble recognising. And we don't just stay on the same one; we flit between them at lightning speed. It's hard to distinguish what I'm feeling to what you're feeling, for example, let alone how I feel in a crowd, or God forbid if I actually _touch _someone..."

Trip blinked, "Damn, Malcolm, I'm sorry. I guess I didn't really think."

"No. Don't. Please don't. I'm sorry for ranting." He sighed, and leant back in his chair.

"I think, under the circumstance, that you're allowed a little rant."

Malcolm snorted, "I can't rant too much – you're too happy I'm afraid."

Trip just stared at him, "Err...sorry?"

Quickly, Malcolm backtracked, "No, it's a good thing. I am sick to death of feeling people's concern for me. It's like experiencing some kind of involuntary self pity." Trip winced, knowing how badly that would sit with Malcolm, lord of everything stoic. "Just promise me something. Promise me you won't apologise to me this week. For anything. Just...stay happy."

Trip grinned, "Now _that_ I can do. And when I'm not available, I'm sure we can enlist the perpetually cheerful Travis."

Malcolm laughed, a sound Trip was unused to hearing with such frequency, and in so unguarded a manner, but something he thought he could definitely grow to like. "Thanks."

Trip didn't acknowledge the gratitude, merely offering the plate in a complete rebuff to everything currently abnormal about their conversation, replying with, "Bacon?"

* * *

Lashing out with anger that was decidedly – and thankfully – his own, Malcolm threw a data PADD at the wall of his quarters. Hoshi had just left, _finally_. He felt horrible, both physically and mentally. This was ridiculous! Under normal circumstances, he and Hoshi were good friends, but now...

It had been like he was suffocating, the cloying emotions far worse than they had been back on the planet when the drug had only just been taking hold. The sheer complexity of her emotions had been doubly emphasized by their focus – him. Or, more specifically, worry, concern, pity. He hadn't been able to handle it. While Trip's general emotions were gentle and languid, the kind that blended to the background or benefited his own, Hoshi's were far too overwhelming. They had pressed down on him, encompassing him, so much so it felt as if he was choking on their physical manifestations. He had only been able to handle five minutes before he had not so subtly said that he was tired.

And now he felt so _guilty_. It wasn't Hoshi's fault he was an emotionally dysfunctional idiot. Bloody empathy.

He found himself bitterly wishing T'Pol had been the one to drink the compound; at least she had training in safe emotional repression. He just normally looked the other way when things got too uncomfortable. An approach that now was completely useless.

Malcolm sighed, anger abated, and backtracking on his rather selfish wish. He was responsible for the security of Enterprise. It was right that it had been him who had drunk the spiked wine. It was just...while he might be a generally solitary person by nature, he was also a workaholic, and there was definitely a difference between a chosen and enforced solitude.

How had it only been a day?

The door chimed, and Malcolm seriously considered asking Trip to 'accidentally' short it out for him. "Come in." He belatedly realised he hadn't felt anyone on the other side of the door. "Sub-Commander! I wasn't expecting you."

"Doctor Phlox suggested I stopped by to check on you, seeing as I have no open emotions to project." She delicately stepped into his quarters, bending to pick up the battered PADD from the floor, raising an eyebrow at him.

Malcolm scrubbed a hand over his face, not really realising that in his relief to feel nothing around another person he was acting much more candidly towards her than he normally would. "It's a long story."

"I can imagine." She placed it down on his desk, "How are you feeling?"

Malcolm indicated that she should sit as he took a seat himself, "As best as can be expected, I suppose. I haven't really had any direct contact with many people since the incident, so it hasn't been too bad."

"Commander Tucker mentioned you were coping well when you met this morning." Malcolm nodded absently, his attention being drawn away from the comforting void of the Vulcan to the buzz outside. The buzz that he couldn't hear, but could sure as hell feel, pressing down on him, overwhelming him, everywhere and on top of him, until he didn't know which way was up, and- "Lieutenant?" T'Pol's voice broke through the rapidly descending cloud, as her hand grasped his arm where he swayed.

Malcolm blinked, "Sorry, Sub-Commander. It's shift change, and more people are in the corridor outside. It makes it hard to focus."

"And I imagine this is impeding on your ability to sleep?" T'Pol commented dryly.

"It's fine." He shook his head.

T'Pol didn't seem to believe him. She cocked her head to a slight angle, seemingly assessing him, "If you were willing, I could lead you into a basic meditation? Vulcans use meditation frequently to centre ourselves and repress any illogical emotions. You are human, so it will be marginally successful at best, but it should allow you to get some rest."

"Meditation?" Malcolm looked at the woman sceptically before fully assessing the proposal; it wasn't everyday a Vulcan offered to help you meditate. And the idea of being able to get some _sleep_. To go to a place where no one's emotions could touch him. Slowly, he nodded, hesitantly replying, "Okay."

Unsure, he copied her actions as she nodded and moved to the floor so that they were facing each other, legs crossed. T'Pol shifted forwards slightly so that their knees were touching, "Physical contact should help you block out the crew outside. Now, listen to my voice, and close your eyes."

Slowly but surely, with T'Pol's soft instruction, Malcolm felt the world slip away into the void that he had now come to associate with the Vulcan woman. His breathing evened, and the emotions that had earlier felt so oppressive seemed to meet a new resistance before they could overwhelm him.

Time had lost meaning, and so he wasn't sure how long it had been when T'Pol brought them out, "It's quiet." Malcolm murmured. T'Pol knew he wasn't talking about audible sound.

"If you guide yourself through what we've practiced, then you should be able to experience relative peace while you are alone at least, preventing emotions from further afield affecting you. If it would be beneficial to you, I could come here each evening to meditate with you until your empathy has abated?"

Malcolm regarded his superior officer carefully, "Thank you for the offer, Sub-Commander, but I couldn't take up so much of your time."

"On the contrary, for a human you are actually quite a relaxing meditation partner." Malcolm repressed a smirk at her typically Vulcan words, "Is 2100 hours acceptable to you?"

"Thank you..."

"For a Vulcan, the mere idea of losing control of our emotions is unthinkable, let alone experiencing the emotions of others like a Betazoid. If I can help you get through this, then I want to." She rose gracefully, and nodded to him as she palmed open the door, "Good night, Lieutenant Reed."

"Good night, Sub-Commander."

When the door slid back closed behind her, Malcolm took a steadying breath. Maybe he could actually do this.

* * *

It had been two days since that dreaded first day of empathy, and Malcolm was vaguely certain he had a handle on things. T'Pol and Trip had helped immensely, and according to Trip, Captain Archer had ordered the rest of the crew to hold off until Malcolm was feeling more stable. This came about the day after T'Pol's first meditation session with him, when Archer had come to visit. The whole situation had been so stressful for Malcolm – being alone in a room with his captain, a captain who did not have a great handle on emotions, and who he was not especially relaxed around under normal circumstances, had not been fun. Phlox had advised that Malcolm's visitors were limited to T'Pol, who could give the Doctor updates. Thankfully, from Malcolm's point of view, Trip had ignored that order, and so his visitor list had been bumped up to two.

It was now a couple of hours since T'Pol had left after their third meditation session, and Malcolm was lying in bed, decidedly not asleep. He was going stir crazy, and he knew it was all from his own emotions. He couldn't handle being cooped up for this long.

Checking the chronometer, he groaned: 0300 hours. Wonderful.

That was it. He couldn't handle it anymore. The ship only had a skeleton crew, and he needed to get _out_. Reasoning with himself as he pulled on some clothes, he thought that he could keep a close check on himself. The mess hall would be empty this time of night, and he would be able to sense people coming before he saw them, enabling him to successfully avoid them. Not something possible during the day shift, but with so few people about...

He palmed the door open, relishing at being able to take more than ten strides without having to double back on himself.

The mess hall was, as predicted, empty. Contrary to his usual behaviour, he chose a table nearer the door, so he would be able to feel people coming sooner. He sighed, surveying the star-dashed windows and shadowy ceiling. With the dimmed lights, the space looked even bigger than he remembered, but then, he supposed anything would look bigger than his damned quarters.

He didn't really notice when his eyes began to slip shut, and he unconsciously performed the breathing techniques T'Pol had been showing him, the starry blurs almost hypnotic in their quality as they glided past the windows...

...It started as a niggling sensation, dulled by the calming aid of the meditation techniques, and so by subconscious choice, Malcolm did not wake. The sensation was expected; the feeling of the new shift passing in the corridor adjacent to his quarters.

But then it grew, and grew, pressing down on him. It was a horrible emotion...curiosity, but curiosity that was not his own, creeping like insects under his skin, scuttling over nerves, down his spine. And then there was confusion, a heavier emotion, and all the more disorientating for someone who was trying to drag himself out of sleep.

And then he was awake, and any semblance of control was shattered as a multitude of emotions slammed into him at full force, stealing his breath, and nearly his sight as stars much closer to home scattered across his vision.

Oh _God_, his head. If there were voices, if there were any individuals in this mass, Malcolm would not have been able to decipher them. There was everything, in him, on him, over him, and how the hell did humanity have this many emotions anyway? Vertigo took him in its grasp, and he thought he might have tried to stand up at some point, but the world was at so far an angle that there really wasn't any point trying to work it out.

Without warning something punched into him, punched through the thronging mess of emotions. And he knew that emotion. He _hated_ that emotion. Concern. And it wouldn't stop, they wouldn't let go, and he couldn't _breathe!_

And then the concern was ripped away to fall back into the masses, only to be followed shortly by a sharp pressure and a hiss at his neck...and then darkness. Blissful, emotionless, darkness.

To Be Continued...

Author Notes: Only one more chapter to go after this – but I suppose that doesn't help much with the cliffhanger... Feedback makes me happy, if you have time :)


	3. Chapter 3

Author Notes: Once again, thank you for the wonderful feedback - it's nice to know when people think my writing's worth reading! Hope you enjoy this last instalment!

Chapter 3

Trip had been on his way to the mess hall to grab breakfast when he almost collided with Phlox. A quick rapid exchange of words, and Trip was running. Hoshi had called Phlox from the mess hall, apparently having come in for breakfast and seen Malcolm asleep at one of the tables. Predicting what could happen as more people began coming in, but not wanting to touch the man to wake him up, Hoshi had quickly contacted Phlox.

When they burst into the hall, Malcolm was no longer asleep. He was doubled over in what looked to be a hell of a lot of pain, clutching his head, and clearly not at all aware of what was being yelled. What perhaps surprised Trip the most, as he stood momentarily frozen, was the sight of the diminutive Hoshi furiously wrenching a much bulkier armoury crewman away from Malcolm, trying to break the concerned handhold he had on the man's shoulder. She was successful just moments before Phlox hurried over, quickly depressing a hypospray into Malcolm's neck. It took effect almost immediately, as Malcolm's whole body went limp, and Trip barely darted forward in time to catch him and lower him to the floor, "Damn, Doc, how much juice did you put in that thing?"

The normally cheerful Phlox sighed grimly, "I thought it prudent to knock him out as soon as possible. We should get him to sickbay."

And then for the first time, Trip expanded his awareness of the hall to beyond just Malcolm, Hoshi, and the now rather contrite-looking Crewman Parish. There wasn't even that many people there...definitely not the fullest he had ever seen the mess hall.

So much for Malcolm's empathy _gradually_ dissipating over the week...

They now stood in sickbay discussing options with Captain Archer also present; T'Pol was on duty on the bridge. Jon had been out walking Porthos when he had gotten the call, and now the ever excitable beagle was staring up at them from his master's feet. Malcolm had woken up not too long ago thanks to some of Phlox's magic potions, and had explained what he thought had happened. Trip couldn't blame him – he would have been going crazy staring at those four walls for so long too. Hell, he didn't think he would have even lasted for the three days Malcolm had.

Phlox shook his head, "At this point, I would strongly advise returning to Betazed. They might be able to help, and give us a more accurate timescale of how much longer this intensity will last." They had left the planet's orbit not long after the incident, both the Vulcans and Starfleet keen not to create any further incident that might impede relations. They had been due to return after Malcolm had recovered, in the meantime keeping in long distance communication range of the planet.

"I'm beginning to think you're right." Jon nodded, sighing. Malcolm, for his part, sat a few beds away from the discussion, his head still hurting like hell, and not wanting to get too close. He didn't really seem to be following the conversation, slightly zoned out as he stared at the opposite wall. Jon turned back to the group, "But we're still at quite a distance away – could you do anything over communications?"

"I could send them readings of Lieutenant Reed's more recent scans – it would mean they would be fully prepared when we arrive."

Jon nodded, "Do it."

"And until then?" Trip asked.

"We'll just have to try and stop our Lieutenant from going on any more wanders. Perhaps set aside areas during the night where he could go to get out of his quarters? Though I would not feel comfortable him being unaccompanied."

"I know. I don't like this place either." Malcolm's voice floated over to them, completely unexpected and not entirely making sense. The three turned to see Malcolm still sitting on the biobed, but instead of his legs dangling over the edge like before, he was now sitting cross-legged, with the head of a certain beagle in his lap. Porthos yipped in agreement to his statement. "It's the smell, isn't it? Medical facilities always have the same damn smell...I suppose it's worse for you."

Porthos wagged his tail, rising to place his paws against Malcolm's chest. Malcolm grinned tiredly, "Sorry, I can't play. I'm stuck here." There was a pause, "Yes. It's not fun at all."

Trip was having serious trouble trying to keep from laughing at the bizarre scene. Malcolm had never really interacted with the beagle before, and yet here he was, having a one-sided conversation with the dog's emotions. Jon's face was split into a huge grin, "Are you two okay over there?"

At the sound of Jon's voice, both human and dog looked up, realising they were the subject of scrutiny. Porthos yapped out a joyful bark in return, quickly catching Malcolm off guard with a large lick down the left side of his face before jumping back down to join his master. Malcolm made a good-natured sound of disgust as he wiped his face with his sleeve, shrugging as he smiled with the other men's amusement, "Dogs are easier."

Trip snorted, "Feeling better?"

Malcolm shrugged, "I suppose as well as I can be expected to feel all considering. Can I leave now?" He might have been desperate to escape his quarters, but that didn't mean he wanted to stay here for any longer than necessary. Phlox's menagerie of creatures, for one, was much more noticeable than they had been before. The simplest of emotions, of course, but that didn't make them any less perceptible.

"I'm afraid there are rather too many people about between here and your quarters for me to feel comfortable releasing you, Lieutenant." Phlox shook his head.

"But I can't stay here all day!" Malcolm blurted it out without thinking, the sudden idea of being in close proximity to Phlox's completely dizzying emotions for so long making him feel really quite ill.

"Malcolm, Phlox knows what he's doing." Jon said gently, but Malcolm was already unfolding his limbs and slipping ungainly to the floor, clearly very determined.

"No! I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not staying here. I can't."

Phlox strode forwards, automatically with his hand out, "Lieutenant, I must insist-"

Malcolm almost leapt backwards, thankfully hitting the wall with his back, preventing him from going over completely, "Don't _touch_ me!" Quieter, he shakily repeated, "Please don't touch me."

Obediently, Phlox took a step back, "I apologise, Lieutenant. But you must see why it would be bad for you to leave. We would only have a repeat of what happened this morning, and you would find yourself back here again anyway."

Desperately, Malcolm tried to achieve some form of equilibrium, clenching his fists against the wall and gritting his teeth. Just breathe. Calm down. It didn't help – Phlox was still too close, a crashing maelstrom of emotional contradictions.

And then rescue came in the form of Trip, "My quarters are closer. We could restrict access to a quick route there without too much disruption." Phlox wavered mentally with uncertainty as Malcolm wavered physically with yet another emotion to add to the mix, "C'mon, Doc, he's clearly not going to be able to last out a whole day here."

"Very well." Phlox sighed, and moved away.

Jon indicated to Trip, "Get on with clearing a route; I'll go and speak with T'Pol about our course change – Porthos!"

The beagle had darted forwards again, and Malcolm felt a wet nudge at his hand. He smiled down at the bundle of energy, the must simpler emotions washing away the remnants of the more complex Denobulan's. "Thanks." He murmured, before Porthos turned completely and skidded in an uncoordinated manner on the polished floor back to the captain.

Dog concern was so much nicer than human...

* * *

When Trip came back to his quarters after shift, he found Malcolm asleep on the couch, a PADD held limply in his hand. After only a moment, Malcolm began to stir, and Trip knew it wasn't because he had been making too much noise. He sighed, once again being reminded how hard this must be for his usually so emotionally reserved friend. The PADD clattered to the floor as Malcolm shifted and sat up, blinking dazedly. Trip bent to pick it up, briefly glancing at it, raising an eyebrow with incredulity, "Work? You're doing work? Does the phrase down-time mean anything to you?"

"After three days of novels, you'd be sick of them too." Malcolm replied dryly. "And the armoury won't run itself."

"Yes it will – that what your team is for!"

Malcolm snorted, "Please, you're saying that you could bear to be apart from your precious engine for this long? With nothing really tangible to stop you from going there?"

Trip paused, "Okay. Point taken. You up for some food? Chef said he'd send some down if I gave him a buzz."

Malcolm shrugged, "I'm not hungry."

Trip looked him sceptically, "Uh huh." This was shortly followed by a flicker of mischief before a long pause, and then-

Malcolm yelped, "What the hell was that?"

Trip shrugged innocently, "Phlox keeps banging on about trying to control our emotions around you, so I thought I'd try the reverse. I personally am very hungry."

Malcolm glared, "Yes. I noticed. And now, apparently, so I am. Though seeing as I've never experienced a craving for..." He trailed off, focussing, before his glare intensified, "Pecan Pie? Seriously? Is that all you ever think about?"

"It's all my stomach ever thinks about, yeah. And now you won't have an excuse not to try it!"

"With all due respect, Trip, I hate you."

"You're very welcome." His friend gave him a lop-sided grin, before flopping down without any grace next to Malcolm, careful not to touch him. Even if Malcolm could handle his company, he didn't want to overload him.

Malcolm was grateful. At least someone still had the capacity to treat this whole thing as if it wasn't so abnormal.

* * *

It was day six, and they were only a few hours from Betazed. Since the incident in the mess hall, the crew of the Enterprise had fallen into a routine. While no one other than T'Pol and Trip had really had prolonged contact with their armoury officer, quite a few people had seen him, especially at night. Whether it was the dulling of the drug, T'Pol's meditation techniques, or simply Malcolm getting more accustomed, he had found himself much less restricted when there were fewer people about. He had been able to walk around more, visit the gym, and actually be active. He still hadn't returned to the mess hall, not wanting to tempt fate, but all in all, he was coping.

That didn't mean he wanted to keep the empathy, though. The prospect of hopefully being actually alone in a crowd was so close now...

Ambassador Brina had been very eager to make up for the massive faux-pas committed by her sons, and had arranged for him to meet with one of their planets most skilled specialists. Trip and T'Pol would accompany him to the planet, while Captain Archer conducted a video conference from the ship with the Ambassasor.

It seemed like an age since he had last been on the planet, but soon enough, he was sitting in a private medical facility, something that reminded him much more of a psychologist's domain than a hospital. Doctor Laner had been asking him questions for about fifteen minutes now, all the while keeping hold of both Malcolm's hands – a rather unsettling experience in itself, seeing as how he had been consciously avoiding physical contact for nearly a week. T'Pol and Trip both stood off to the side, waiting for the Doctor to be finished.

Finally, he released Malcolm's hands, smiling, "The compound seems to have begun breaking down nicely. You should expect to feel residual spikes of empathy for another few days, especially from prolonged physical contact, but I see no reason why this would impede you too much. Perhaps one more day in relative isolation, and then you might begin resuming a more normal routine."

Trip grinned, "That's great news!" He then frowned, an expression mirroring Malcolm's, "What's wrong?"

The Betazoid regarded the human with mild curiosity, "You know, you have adapted incredibly well, though at this stage in the compound's cycle, I would not have predicted you to notice."

"He wasn't finished." Malcolm supplied to Trip and T'Pol, who clearly hadn't understood what was going on.

"I'm afraid your natural level of empathy will be now much higher than you have ever experienced before. The compound has already affected certain areas of your brain, training it to be much more open."

Malcolm and Trip both blinked in confusion, "But I'm not Betazoid – our species doesn't have empathy."

"Actually, Lieutenant, all sentient species have a certain form of empathy. It is what allows us to interact on a social level." T'Pol supplied.

"Your Sub-Commander is correct." Laner nodded, "It is not something you need to be concerned about. I am not suggesting you will still be able to feel the emotions of others, and it will not affect you in any detrimental fashion. Rather, you will likely have a much better idea of the nuances of emotions from other people, your ability to read them, if you will."

Malcolm swallowed nervously, "Okay..." For once he was thankful that the compound hadn't dissipated completely yet, for the Doctor's confidence was helping quell his own worries.

And then there was a wash of comfort from a different direction – Trip really had gotten good at emotional projection in the last few days – "Look at it this way, Mal, you'll be able to confirm if you're being overly paranoid or not when Jon does something stupid in a first contact."

"Indeed, an increased ability to 'read people', as Doctor Laner phrased it, would actually be very beneficial to your position on the Enterprise." T'Pol, ever the pragmatic one.

"If you have any concerns, feel free to contact me." The Doctor smiled, "But otherwise, I think you're free to go."

"Thank you, Doctor." Malcolm hopped off the bed, secretly hoping he really wouldn't need to.

* * *

Another week after leaving Betazed for a second time, a firm friend in the making despite the shaky start, and things were relatively back to normal. Malcolm had finally been able to resume work, and after convincing Crewman Parish, that he really, honestly, did not hold a grudge for his actions in the mess hall, life resumed its pace.

Malcolm, personally, didn't really notice an increased empathy like the Doctor had predicted. He was just glad the whole ordeal was over.

His friends, on the other hand, were observing a marked difference.

It wasn't anything bad, of course, and it was only really the senior personnel who knew him well enough for it to be quite a big point of discussion. Jon was perhaps the most affected by it, Malcolm having always been rather distant from him, worried about close interaction with his commanding officer. But now? Perhaps it was partially due to his prolonged isolation, but when one of his friends asked him to join them to spend time out of shift, he was much more likely to say yes. He was less stiff, less guarded around them, as if he knew that there was a real friendship there, and as if he knew that Captain Archer didn't have some strange ulterior motive.

No one pointed it out to him, preferring just to let him work it out for himself. Trip especially took advantage of it, while Jon preferred to take it slower, inviting Malcolm to join him, Trip and T'Pol for breakfast more often. T'Pol, meanwhile, had offered to keep up the meditation with Malcolm once a week, saying that it made sense to continue the controlling exercise if she ever hoped to teach him Vulcan fighting styles; again, no one commented that she had never mentioned anything like that before. It was as if what had happened to Malcolm had acted as a proxy for bringing T'Pol more out of her isolation as well.

Porthos, for his part, enjoyed the much more relaxed, familial atmosphere that he sensed spreading throughout the ship he called home. It meant he had more friends to play with.

And it was about time, too.

**FIN**

Author Notes: So what did you think? I had so much fun writing this! Especially T'Pol, who I usually avoid. Once again, I'd like to thank my beta, who had far too much fun chatting to me about where this fic could go. I'd like to hear any final thoughts you have, and thanks for reading!


End file.
